A Band of Scarlet Silk
by bendingwind
Summary: In which River and the Doctor discuss the validity of alternate universe weddings, and decide they deserve a wedding night anyway. River/Doctor, M.


**A Band of Scarlet Silk**

_by bendingwind_

* * *

><p>It's not long before he comes for her—she hasn't even finished unpacking her belongings in the tiny cell she's been assigned. He pulls her into the TARDIS to mixed protests and giggles, and her skin tinges where he touches and the world seems oddly silent but for the quiet click of the TARDIS door.<p>

"I was hardly going to leave you in a cell on our wedding night," he whispers into her ear, and her giggles become full blown laughter.

"I wrote my thesis on you," she points out, grinning at him, "and I am reasonably certain that Gallifreyan wedding ceremonies are only valid after the exchanging of names. _You_ just want an excuse to have sex."

"Mmm," he says, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Gallifreyan wedding ceremonies, as it happens, are usually a lot more private than that."

She smiles and stretches up for a hello kiss. "It was just Mum and Dad, how much more private could you ask for?"

He winks at her and swoops down for another kiss, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

"Besides," she mumbles in between kisses, "even if we'd exchanged names, it was in another universe. It doesn't count."

"Of course it doesn't," he replies, pulling her farther into the TARDIS while making it very clear that he didn't consider her hello kiss _nearly_ thorough enough. "I didn't even ask if you wanted to marry me."

"We are both rather rubbish at weddings, aren't we?" she asks, pulling loose to grin at him. "It's probably your influence. You're a terrible role model."

"Am I?" He laughs again and whirls her around. "Would you?"

"Would I what?" she asks, her face lit up with joy.

"Well, marry me? We could do it right away, it wouldn't take long to zap back and make plans, and it shouldn't be that hard to sort of, er, merge it with human ceremonies. That way Amy and Rory could come. I don't know, do you even want a big wedding? We could do dancing, weddingy things—"

She shushes him with a fond chuckle and a finger against his lips.

"I haven't even said yes and you're already planning the wedding."

"Oh. Well—"

She shakes her head, and he shuts up again.

"Of course I'll marry you."

"Of course you will," he replies, and his eyes crinkle up as he smiles and, suddenly, he looks so beautifully young.

"Arrogant," she says, and she laughs aloud as she pulls him down into yet another kiss, less innocent this time. She opens her mouth against his and sucks lower lip, leisurely and warm. His hands come up to hold her face as he leans into the kiss, nipping her lip gently.

"I told you," she whispers against his mouth, "I'm rubbish at weddings. You said something about Gallifreyan wedding ceremonies usually being more… private?" The way she says it suggests something rather more salacious than a mere wedding ceremony.

"Well, if you insist," he drawls.

"Oh, I insist." The grin she gives him is positively wicked, as she draws him towards her. Instead of another kiss, she tilts her head so that she can whisper in his ear. Whatever she says makes him smile wider and draw her tight against him.

"Well then, River Song," he replies, voice low and rich, "Let's get married."

His hand slides down her check to her neck, brushes across her shoulder and down her arm until he fits his into hers. The look in his eyes, love and lust and fascination and joy, says everything that needs to be said as he tugs her back through the TARDIS, through corridors familiar and unfamiliar, and all the time she knows exactly where they are going. She is as much a part of the TARDIS as the bedroom to which he leads her, with its delicate metal vines winding up the walls, sprouting crystalline flowers and copper-colored leaves. Golden huon particles swirl slowly through the air, sparkling.

"The heart of the TARDIS," she breathes, staring around her in wonder.

"Hmm," he replies, nuzzling her ear. She sighs and leans into him. Moments creep past.

"Are you going to tie me up and marry me yet, or are we just sightseeing?" she asks. He laughs aloud and pulls her around and in, so that her breasts brush his torso. A tiny indrawn breath is the only indication she gives that she is surprised and pleased by the contact.

"And what do you want me to tie you up with this time, Doctor Song?" he asks, a tiny smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, "Handcuffs, I suppose?"

She grins back at him. "I seem to recall that it had to be a length of cloth for the ceremony to be valid, sweetie," she replies, "I promise we can play with handcuffs later." She winks at him, and they both try to muffle their giggles as they cling to each other.

"I've got one around here somewhere," he says, and suddenly he releases her. He dashes around the room, shuffling through cabinets and drawers that, as far as she can tell, sprout spontaneously from the walls.

"What are you looking for?" she asks, making her way to the bed. It is wide and plain, low with white sheets.

"It belongs to my family, used for generations—" his worlds are lost to mumbling as she sits on the bed, smiling as she bounces slightly.

"Aha!" he says, pulling out a length of heavily embroidered scarlet silk.

"Is that—?" she asks, as he bounds over to her.

"Yes," he says, staring down at her with an unreadable look. "It is."

For a moment, archaeological curiosity wars with the warmth rising in the pit of her stomach. He kneels down in front of her, so that he has to look up to meet her eyes, and she forgets about every theory on Gallifreyan marriage customs she's ever read.

"River, give me your hand," he says, and his voice sends shivers up her spine. He holds her hand out and he clasps it, reverently, and gently strokes her wrist at the base of her palm. With maddening slowness, he wraps the silk around her hand and lower arm, tying it neatly once he is done. The embroidery scratches against her skin as she flexes her fingers, watching as he binds the cloth around his own hand. He ties a second knot and she looks up to meet his eyes. They are warm and loving, and fixed on her.

"I love you," he mumbles, looking slightly embarrassed. "I don't know if I've said that. I probably should, shouldn't I?"

She answers by pulling him up for a fierce kiss, lips and tongue and just the right amount of teeth. He rolls over onto the bed next to her, pulling her on top of him. His fingers trail down her side and play with the rim of her shirt, slowly sliding beneath to trail against her warm skin, leaving sparks in their wake. She sighs into their kiss and, encouraged, he tugs her shirt up higher. Cool air brushes against her lower back, followed by the cool palm of his hand. He pulls her more tightly against him, as if he wanted to pull her into him, to make her a part of himself.

She returns the favor, tugging at his jacket until it slides down and off one arm. He moves to shrug it off, only to discover that it is caught on the binding that ties them together. Their eyes meet, and they collapse together in laughter.

"Should we redo it?" she gasps between giggles, "or just leaves our clothes dangling off that arm?"

"We'll redo it," he replies with a smile, before sitting up and efficiently untying their hands. He shrugs off his jacket before she can reach other to help, but she beats him to his braces, gently snapping one against his chest before she unhooks it. Slowly, with fascination, she trails the path of his braces up his chest, to his shoulder, and then she carefully cups his neck and draws him down into another kiss. She reaches around his back to unclasp the braces behind, and slowly untucks his shirt, tracing the simplest of Gallifreyan symbols against the cool skin of his lower back as she does so. They break apart, and for a moment they are still, staring at each other, breathless.

One day, she thinks, this mad, impossible man will break her heart.

He reaches up with slightly shaking hands to unbutton his shirt even as she lifts it up, caressing the bumps in his spine and, as the shirt slides over his head to crumple on the bed beside them, she hooks her hand around his neck and pulls him to her again. With a swift motion he lifts her own shirt over her head, and stares down at her with deep fascination. Slowly, he reaches down beneath her to unclasp her bra. He lets the straps slide down her shoulders and then tumble down her arms, spilling her breasts into the cold air of the room. Her nipples harden instantly and he lifts a hand to carefully brush across one, and then he bends down to gently kiss it. She draws in a breath shakily, her chest rising up against him.

"Mmm," he says, sounding pleased with himself. His tongue flicks out to lick her areola as his arms wind around her to draw her closer, and she writhes against him.

"We should tie the wedding band again," he whispers in his ear, and she can only _breathe_ in response. This time he hands her one end of the cloth, and then pauses long enough for her to come back to herself and mimic his actions. In a moment, they are bound together once again, Gallifreyan words etched in golden thread chafing against their skin.

He moves his hand to cup her hip, dragging her arm behind him, and smiles as he traces Gallifreyan poems against her hip, almost absently.

"Do you really want to be my wife, River Song?" he asks, tilting his head in that way that says he's unsure, and perhaps a little scared.

"_Always_," she responds, leaning forward to press her forehead to his.

"Okay," he says, and he leans back, pulling her on top of him as his hands travel around her waist to unfasten the buttons of her trousers. Her perception feels split, caught between the awkward way his movements tug her hand about and the heat rising between her legs as his skin brushes her, as his other hand moves up to cup her breast, between the way he's looking at her with so much heat and so much longing.

"I love you," she whispers back, as he helps her shimmy out of her trousers. Her hips grind against his, and she feels the hard length of him beneath his own trousers.

"Mmm," she says, her face suddenly lighting with a grin. She giggles, perhaps a little wickedly, and toys with the rim of his trousers. He whimpers a little in frustration, as she makes no move to take them off of him. It is her turn to tug the awkward weight of his bound arm around, now, as she reaches down to stroke the length of him. He moans and for a moment his eyes flutter closed, and she withdraws her hand to unbutton his trousers. With her help he shimmies out of them as well and, for a moment, they stay there, staring at each other.

"I also kind of hate you," he says, and his words hang in the air.

"Ugh!" she exclaims after a moment, and leans down to shut him up with a kiss. "I hate you too, sweetie," she mumbles into his mouth as his hand trails down her hip and across her ass, to slowly trace patterns on her thighs. They come to rest on her opening. He plays with her for a moment, and then slides a finger in, and then another. She gasps and retaliates by stroking his cock with her bound hand, tugging his hand away from her slightly. For a moment they continue to struggle, wanking each other off with glee and battling to see who can put the most pressure on the bonds. He gives up first, and they collapse together once again, laughing.

"Try the old fashioned way?" he asks, when they regain their breath, and she smiles at him.

"Well, just this once, I suppose." She grins again, cheeks flushed. His eyes are so bright, and so beautiful.

They shuffle around, with only the occasional giggle, and in the end she looms above him with disheveled golden curls and a wicked grin. She leans down for a lingering kiss as she guides him into her and sets a gentle pace.

Time seems to narrow around them, closing in on them, the world focusing on them, skin against skin and breath with breath.

"My name," he whispers, as their climax builds around them, "is—"

And she hears it, in her mind and heart and bones, as the world crashes in around them and they scream each other's names.

* * *

><p>They lay together, tangled in each other, the scarlet wedding band lying limply across their entwined arms.<p>

"As wedding ceremonies go," she whispers, kissing him on the cheek, "I rather liked that one."

"Mmm," he agrees, "and between you and me, I think I'm rather better at _this_ sort of dancing."

Her laughter echoes through the TARDIS and it thrums around them, happy.


End file.
